


Who's Been Sitting In My Chair

by CourierNinetyTwo



Series: Goldilocks & The Three Dates (Modern AU) [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:03:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1915503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yang invites Weiss out for a night at the bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Been Sitting In My Chair

Even in the line outside The Arena, the music was so loud vibrations could be felt through the sidewalk. Weiss sighed as she checked the time on her phone again; Yang had asked her to come by at seven, but it was almost eight now, thanks to a crush of downtown traffic and the fact that she hadn’t bargained on half the city wanting to get in here on a Friday night. For a low-rent bar — Yang’s term, not hers — it drew a crowd to rival opening night at the symphony and she still wasn’t close enough to see the door.

Glancing around at the other would-be patrons, Weiss wasn’t sure she had quite reached the associated level of casual. That was the only sartorial advice she was given via text, despite insisting there were different kinds of casual; business casual, law school finals week casual, not to mention casual with colleagues who started at hundred dollar sunhats and designer sandals and worked their way up. It wasn’t the latter, at least, but she felt somewhat out of place in a cream cotton blouse and the pair of jeans from the very back of her closet that happened to fit. After all, hers didn’t have any holes in them and the apple perfume she’d dabbed at her wrists and throat clashed horribly with the mixed scent of sweat and stale body spray.

Stretching to the very tips of her toes gave as split second view of a blonde at the very front of the line, and by the number of people being turned away and staggering off without a protest, they were definitely the bouncer. Leaning out any further risked losing her place, considering how brusquely she was shuffled forward the moment there was any space in front. Weiss was beginning to see why Yang hadn’t wanted to combine the bar and a more formal date, just like it was understood why she didn’t want to return the favor. Showing Yang the law offices would be akin to taking a tour to watch paint dry, although both of them probably would have gotten a fair amount of amusement at the reaction of her associates.

Downloading a recommended app onto her phone was the key to making time fly; by the time there was a clipboard out of the corner of her vision, she had managed to collect enough gems to build a tiny pixelated castle, even though the lure of purchasing a Royal Gem package in order to add a moat and custom heraldry was tempting her with a popup at the top of the application. When Weiss glanced up, her eyes widened, thumb hovering an inch over the screen where an animated knight was asking if she wanted to send men off to kill a dragon.

The bouncer was blond but he certainly wasn’t Yang. Even with short bleached hair pulled into enough spikes to make a porcupine jealous, Weiss quickly discerned the reason for the mistaken identity; he was tan as well and more than a foot taller than she was, a muscular build not concealed so much as emphasized by the black polo and trousers that made up the work outfit described to her once in passing. His biceps were like bowling balls trapped in the sleeves, stance set wide enough to keep anyone from getting in past the door without permission unless someone wanted to try their strength.

“You’re not Yang.” Weiss said, too startled to do more than voice the obvious.

“No, I’m Sun.” Disinterested gray eyes dropped down to the clipboard, only to pop back up to meet hers a second later. “Wait, you’re the whi—you’re Weiss, right? She was waiting for you out here but she finally had to duck inside and get ready for her match.”

She blinked. “Match?”

“Yang didn’t tell you? She’s got a heavyweight bout tonight. Odds are slanted so there’s a thousand bucks on the line for a win. Maybe more than that, considering who all turned up.” Sun pointed back towards the door with his pen. “Go on in. You should be able to find her warming up in the cage.”

Dropping her phone back into her pocket, Weiss noticed the wad of twenties sticking out of his other hand. “There isn’t a cover charge?”

“Not for a bouncer’s girl.” Stepping out of the way, he made a sweeping gesture inside. “Have a good time.”

Had Sun been anyone else, Weiss would have spent the next ten minutes explaining that she was an attorney-at-law and one of the most powerful lawyers in the city, if not the state, and far more than someone’s  _girl_ , but since he was Yang’s coworker and hadn’t made her open up her wallet in front of the already soused frat boy waiting to try his luck at getting in next, she decided to take a breath and let it slide. Her patience was tested again the moment she stepped past the threshold and was hit with a cacophony of shouts, music that could only be called metal for how it grated on the ears, and the sound of flesh slamming into flesh from a round of boxing displayed on a massive television above the adrenaline-fueled crowd.

Thankfully, the cage wasn’t hard to find, being fairly self-descriptive. An octagon of black chain link fencing surrounded a dull gray mat that had been patched a dozen times over, some of the duct tape and stitching sticking better in some places than others. The sight of tattooed knuckles and calloused fingertips laced through the fence made a smile tug at the edge of Weiss’ mouth, even if she couldn’t see the rest of Yang until pushing through the crowd and just managing to dodge being clotheslined by someone carrying a tray full of empty beer bottles. With pitchers and cold singles being set down on uneven tables by drunken hands, it was no surprise that the floor was sticking to the bottom of her shoes.

Just from the back, Yang was glorious to look at. On their second date — seafood by the bay, which had been a resounding success — and their third — a movie Weiss paid no bit of attention to thanks to the broad palm resting against her thigh — the blonde had worn an atrocious if amusing Hawaiian top and a t-shirt respectively, but it was the tight tank tops she preferred, like the dark blue one being worn now, showing off shoulders sculpted with more care than a Greek statue. Muscle tapered up from each side in a smooth triangle up to the nape of Yang’s neck, bared for once since that unruly mass of hair had been wrangled into a braid heavy enough to knock someone out with a hard swing.

Tapping one shoulder made Yang jump; it was only a second after her fingers brushed tan skin that Weiss realized the other woman had her eyes closed; trying to build up focus, chances were. Still, the moment Yang turned around to face her through the cage, lilac eyes lit up bright and eager. Through the lattice, Weiss could read the front of the tank top and was hard pressed to keep from rolling her eyes. A pair of white arrows pointed outward from the center, topped by the words  _I Flexed And The Sleeves Fell Off_.

“Is that proper fighting attire?” Weiss asked, frowning as she considered the question herself. “What  _is_  proper fighting attire? I had no idea you were doing this tonight.”

“Ah—” The sound was garbled until Yang opened her mouth, plucking out a clear guard molded over her teeth. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I was waiting for you outside to tell you and then I had to stuff my phone in the locker before they would let me into the ring. Sun didn’t charge you anything, right?”

“No, the cover was waived.” Excited as the blonde seemed to be, Weiss couldn’t hide a fraction of doubt. “I’m not sure I want to see you being bludgeoned by someone else.”

Yang shook her head. “I’m the only one who’s doing the bludgeoning tonight. This is going to be my seventh win in a row and you and I are going to go have some fun with a thousand bucks.”

“You don’t need money to impress me.” Placing one hand against the fencing, their fingers entwined together the best they could, cold metal biting into Weiss’ palm. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I can’t let my good looks carry the whole relationship.” When Yang leaned over to kiss her fingertips, heat rose all the way up to her cheekbones. “But trust me, babe, you’ll like what you see. I always get the crowd going.”

While that didn’t erase any of her concerns, Weiss thought it was worth at least trying to be supportive. Yang had invited her to see this spectacle and she wasn’t going to reject it by leaving. “Should I stay here, then?”

“No way. Every buzzed and stoned dude in the place is going to have their faces up against the cage and shouting. It’s like being in the middle of a damn hurricane.” Gesturing with the mouthguard in hand, Weiss tilted her head to follow the direction of Yang’s arm. “Go grab a seat at the main counter there before they fill up. There’s a big screen behind Velvet that has sound from the cage speakers filtered through it.”  
  
She raised a brow. “Velvet?”

“The bartender. Cute brunette, makes screwdrivers strong enough to drop a bull. Tell her you’re here with me and she’ll take care of you.” Yang let go of her hand and kissed the fencing before pulling away with a grin. “I got to go glove up. Soon as it’s over, I’ll find you, okay?”

After a second’s hesitation, Weiss blew a kiss back, turning on one heel before the faint blush across her face could be seen. Weaving through a maze of jutting elbows and shoes poking out from the sides of booths and under tables, she made it to the bar without any stumbling or jostled beers. There was only a single stool open, though, which she was quick to claim. It had a cushion where the other’s didn’t, not to mention a centered view of the television, which was almost as large as the one in her living room. Currently the screen read STANDBY, a couple of pops and hisses escaping the speakers.

Velvet — it could only be her, with waist-length hair that almost matched the dark wood of the counter — appeared a moment later, setting down a massive keg behind the bar before wiping her brow with the rag stuffed in one pocket. For some reason Weiss hadn’t been expecting a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up or an Australian flag belt buckle cast in red, white, and blue, but Yang was right, she certainly was cute.

“If you’re curious about the belt, the monkey up front gave it to me.” A heavy accent lay over the words, plenty of explanation in and of itself before Velvet smiled. “What can I get you?”

“The monkey?” Weiss asked.

“Sun. The first time I met him, he was swinging off a pull-up bar like the gym was a playground.” She let out a soft laugh. “If you’re a designated, I have water and juice too.”

The screwdrivers had come with a warning and Weiss didn’t want to get plastered while waiting for Yang. She wouldn’t be able to give much of a congratulations — or commiseration, if the winning streak broke — if alcohol had more of a grip than sobriety. “Just a martini, please. Yang’s match is going to be on that screen there, right?”

After pulling a cocktail glass down from the rack, Velvet fetched a bottle each of gin and vermouth, fingers leaving clear marks behind on chilled green glass. “Yeah. It’s going to be a hell of a fight too. You a friend of hers?”

Watching as a metal shaker was packed with ice, Weiss fought the urge to pry a splinter up out of the counter. As much as a disaster as other patrons had left it, that didn’t mean she had to do the same out of anxiety. “We’re dating, actually.”

“That must make you Weiss.” With the shaker in one hand, giving the gin a cold bath with the flick of her wrist, Velvet smiled. “Olive or lemon garnish for you?”

“Olives are fine, thank you.” Weiss’ lips pursed. “Does everyone who works here know who I am?”

“Just about, I’d say. Yang talks about you a lot. Sun gets all the good stuff, though, since they’re always up at the door.” A pair of green olives were impaled on a toothpick before the shaker was strained, stopping just an inch shy of filling the glass. “I’m Velvet. If you hear Sun call me Scarlet, it’s because he’s being a smartass.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Reaching into her pocket to find a twenty, she exchanged it for the martini. The fact that Yang might talk about her to coworkers — or were they simply friends who worked together — had never come to mind; Weiss certainly never talked about her relationships at the firm, although she supposed some of the other associates discussed wives and significant others. She just had never wanted to explain, really. “Any rumors I should lay to rest?”

“Oh, no. I don’t play the middleman game with girlfriends.” Velvet offered the change, tossing it into the tip jar when Weiss shook her head. “I don’t get to ask Yang was Sunny-boy says when they’re off work, just like she doesn’t get to ask me what I hear behind the bar.”

“I’m almost considering taking Mandarin night classes.” Weiss murmured before taking a sip. With the slightest touch of vermouth and surprisingly fine gin, the martini was wonderful. “For all the good it might do me.”

“That’ll only save you from Sun and Yang. You get Ren in here from next door and he’ll switch to Cantonese just to screw with both of ‘em.” A whisper of static from the television caught Velvet’s attention, the standby screen becoming a view of the ring. “Your girl will be right up there giving it her all. I’ve got to go set up and crack this keg before the masses swarm, yeah?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Weiss said, leaving Velvet to turn around and start placing mugs on the back counter four at a time.

There was another flicker of colorful lines before the cameras began to play in real time. Yang was in the far corner now, hands bound in black fingerless gloves with yellow piping and smile replaced with a look of grim determination. It was the first occasion Weiss had ever seen such a hard stare from the blonde and even projected from the screen, she couldn’t help feeling slightly intimidated. As much as Yang’s impressive frame made for rib-crushing hugs that usually lifted her a few inches off the floor, the other woman had all the aggression of a teddy bear when they were together, but that strength was cast in a new light as bare feet shifted into a defensive stance, fists raised to throw a couple of punches into the air.

Just that simple display was enough to get cheers from the crowd, who truly was growing louder by the moment. A glance over her shoulder confirmed that the entire cage was surrounded, bottles and hands gesturing up to the ceiling, their yells and cries becoming an indistinguishable mess of sound. Weiss looked back to the screen just in time to see the back of the heavy fencing open like a door and Yang’s opponent step onto the ravaged gray mat. Her eyes grew wide; while the particular details of this sort of thing were foreign to her, Weiss had assumed that the fight would be between women. Instead the camera zoomed in on a man who was of a height with Yang, but where she was more of a sharp V shape, he was broad from head to toe and solid as a wall.

“Alright, everyone.” A loud whine went through a microphone, resulting in groans from the crowd before it faded away. Weiss couldn’t tell where exactly the voice was coming from, but something about it sounded strangely familiar. “Are you ready for a fight?”

The announcer was trying to make his tone boom with all the proper theatrics, but it came out with more of a wheeze at the end, not to mention the flutter of papers shuffling. Nonetheless, the audience responded with a roar. “This a special one, folks. You asked for someone who might have a shot against our local champ and we had to search high and low. Tonight the prize is a thousand bucks and a full night in the champion’s seat, drinks included.”

It almost sounded like a bad commercial, but Weiss was far more concerned about the fact that the dark-haired man looked like he could tackle a tank and win. “Going for her seventh victory in a row and coming in at a solid two hundred pounds, Yang Xiao Long!”

One tan fist punched the air at the sound of her name, a split second smile breaking through that focused mask. Weiss felt a flutter in her chest, attempting to settle it by taking a very long sip of her martini.

“And coming in at two-six-two to try and take the crown, Hei ‘Junior’ Xiong!” There were a few boos, but the man’s face remained impassive for a long moment before he tensed his jaw and spit through his mouthpiece right onto the floor. Weiss cringed as the booing turned into full-out howls. “We didn’t let him wear his heavyweight belt into the ring, since there were some concerns he might end up strangled with it.”

The latter comment turned the darker mood of the crowd into boisterous laughter and cheers, but Weiss felt tension straighten out her shoulders, muttering under her breath, “A sixty pound difference, how can that be even remotely fair?”

“This isn’t exactly sanctioned by a professional league,” someone said to her right, “even if men were allowed to fight women, they’d be in completely different weight classes.”

Glancing at who had spoken, Weiss blinked a few times to make sure that her martini wasn’t doing the viewing for her. Lush red hair poured down to the woman’s shoulders, only broken up by the glint of gold earrings and a set of green eyes that would leave an emerald looking dull. She was dressed a little upscale compared to the other patrons, the oxblood jacket fitting snugly around her shoulders made of a fine enough leather that Weiss could guess the brand off the top of her head, although the scoop-necked shirt underneath was a more conservative gray.

“I’ve never watched a match before.” The admission came with a small smile; it was difficult to think she had missed someone so beautiful sitting next to her. Then again, Weiss didn’t exactly go looking for attractive women in bars. “Do you know a lot about them?”

“Something like that.” A hand was extended to shake; Weiss awkwardly switched which one she holding her glass in to return the gesture, surprised to feel the same rough calluses she was used to on Yang’s palms. “I’m Pyrrha. If it’s not rude to say, I overheard you talking with Velvet. Yang and I have been friends for quite some time, although I’ve been out of town.”

“Weiss. Weiss Schnee.” Better to set the martini down before she did something awkward like spill it. “She and I have been together for a few months, but I guess I never realized how many friends she had.”

“I’m pretty sure Yang tries to become friends with everyone she doesn’t scare away from the door.” Pyrrha smiled before taking a sip from her beer. “Don’t tell her I laid a hundred on odds for her to win tonight. She says my good luck rubs off on her and it’s not a fair fight.”

“You think she will?” Returning her attention to the screen, Weiss watched as a referee in a black shirt stood between Yang and Junior, instructing them to tap gloves. “She works out constantly, but he’s…huge.”

“Well, it’s a trade-off. His size means that he’ll be able to weather hits better and that she’ll have a much harder fight if he gets on top on the floor, but Yang’s footwork is excellent. She’s fast and has a lot of reach. I would bet on a more flexible fighter over one that needs to rely on their weight anyday.” Pyrrha said it all with so much confidence, Weiss couldn’t help but take her word for it.

The sound of an old brass bell signaled the start of the match, a timer popping up on the left hand corner of the screen. Above the three minute countdown, it read  _Round 1 of 3_ , but Weiss’ attention was torn away the second she saw Yang move. One fist shot out so quickly it didn’t even register until Junior’s head snapped back, a thread of blood making its sluggish path from a split lip down his chin. He blocked the next set of blows just in time, arms thick enough that it seemed like Yang was trying to wear through stone before she backed up, putting enough distance between them that he would be forced to close the gap.

As soon as he came forward, gloves raised to protect his head, she slammed a low kick into the side of his leg, but Junior didn’t even flinch. The second kick was right above the knee, Yang shuffling back to circle to a different angle, but Weiss gasped as soon when he lunged, using far more dexterity and speed than she would have thought possible. With a couple feet between Yang’s back and the cage, she could only bounce between the two corners or risk trying to rush into his reach. Junior feinted with one punch and it was blocked, only for a heavy roundhouse to come right for the side of her skull.

Weiss was ready to wince at the impact, but Yang bobbed out of the way at the last second, his fist hitting the fence so hard the entire wall rattled and startled the crowd gathered there. Rather than keeping his face exposed, Junior ducked, about to entangle her in a massive bear hug when Yang’s right arm slid over his back to the opposite shoulder, knees bending before a sharp twist of her hips took him down to the floor. It happened so fast Weiss could scarcely believe it, one tan leg hooking around Junior’s as Yang’s weight bore down and she drove blind punches into the side of his head. He looped both arms around her in retaliation, biceps flexed as he laced his fingers together to finish the hold, squeezing tight while trying to work his lower body free.

Their faces were flushed with exertion, bodies locked in place until Junior drove a knee into Yang’s ribs, about to slip down and reverse their positions when she staggered back to her feet and retreated to the middle of the mat. A few blonde strands had come out of her ponytail, wild and gold, but no attention was paid to them or the sweat starting to drip down a furrowed brow. Junior closed the distance between them again, although his punches were more measured this time, a few of them dodged while others were countered, Yang’s attempts to break through his defense resulting in her hands being slapped aside.

She had just weaved past a right hook when the referee shoved his way in between them, the timer on the round stopped at zero. Weiss let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, a glance at Pyrrha showing the other woman remained interested, but not the least bit concerned. From what little she had gleaned from the match, it seemed like Yang was doing well, even if the chances of Junior falling for another ambush had to be low. Once they were in opposite corners, the referee was passed a pair of water bottles through the door of the cage, giving one to each fighter. Yang tugged her mouthpiece out and gulped down about half of it before putting the guard back in place, Junior squeezing the top of his bottle so some of the blood was washed from his teeth, dripping down his chin in lines of red.

“This is barbaric.” Weiss said aloud, although she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the television for more than a second.

“It’s amateur barbarism.” Pyrrha replied with a wry smile. “Professional has a lot of other factors involved.”

After the water was returned, both of them raised a hand up, the referee moving out of the way the second the bell rang again. They shifted forward, exchanging a couple of blows in the air before Yang tried to swing to the left, aiming for the leg she had already battered with a few kicks, only to suddenly be under a barrage of punches from Junior, who hammered through her guard and landed a solid strike to her sternum. Weiss watched in horror as Yang sucked in a labored breath, arm rising just a second too late to block a left hook to the face. She stumbled backwards and fell onto the mat, dazed for a second as blood rose from a gouge in her brow.

It was only by scrabbling even further away that Yang managed to get to her feet in time to avoid a hard sweep of Junior’s leg, staying hunched and on the defensive until he was back in range of her fists. The next few strikes were either in the air or a blunt smack of gloves before a quick shuffle ended with her arms coming down over both of his, head tucked right over the juncture between Junior’s neck and one bulging shoulder.

At first he tried to shift his stance to throw her loose, but Yang came down with a heavy stomp on the offending foot, following it up with a knee to the gut the moment he recoiled. Changing tactics, Junior’s next attempt was to get on top of the hold, the press of Yang’s elbows against his arms thwarting the movement as both hands failed to find a useful grip against her sweat-slick back. A twist of his hips as one arm struggled to slip free only resulted in Yang’s braid nearly tangled around a thick wrist, which would have been amusing if she hadn’t chosen that exact moment to slam an elbow into the rigid line of his jaw. Junior’s knees went weak, making him slump, but the sharp tug of blonde hair that followed wrenched Yang’s neck back before his arm escaped, a flare of pain tearing through her expression.

“Oh, he’s done.” Pyrrha scoffed, shaking her head.

“He is?” Weiss asked, squinting at the screen to see if she had missed something as the referee waved an arm towards Junior.

“The hair pulling is worth a warning, purposeful or not, but it’s also the easiest way to make Yang hit you so hard your grandmother will fall out of her seat in church.”

Weiss had just enough time to process that rather particular simile when the match resumed and Yang shot forward with all the force of a cannonball. Every punch was lightning-fast, working around Junior’s weakening defenses until his fists dropped down past his chin. The second there was an opening, Yang turned her entire body into the next blow, feet nearly coming completely off the mat before padded knuckles collided with the very center of his forehead. Junior dropped like a stone, the whites of his eyes visible for a split second before they closed, back hitting the mat with a thud hard enough to make the cage shake. It was only the referee’s instant intervention — and sheer daring — that kept Yang away from him, rage shining in violet eyes as blood trickled steadily down her face.

“And there you have it, folks! With a second round knockout, tonight’s winner is Yang Xiao Long! I guess that’s what happens when a bear tries to take down the dragon in her lair, right?” There was a snort as the announcer laughed at his own comment. “Everyone make sure to give her a slap on the back on her way out of the ring, but do yourselves a favor and watch the braid. The middleweight matches are in half an hour, so cool your heels and crack open another beer. Tip your bartender and please, don’t ask her about any kangaroos.”

“Whoever they have on that microphone is terrible.” Weiss muttered, even though her annoyance was far outweighed by relief at Yang’s victory.

Pyrrha shrugged. “It seems like he has a lot of energy.”

The television returned to standby, but even without the enhancement of the speakers, the roar of the crowd was unbelievable as Yang exited the cage. Weiss couldn’t even see the other woman when she turned in her seat, letting out a huff of irritation. There didn’t seem to be any point in getting up; this was where she was told to wait, and the chance of getting lost in the loud pack of drunken patrons where Yang would struggle to find her seemed more likely than not. Instead she sat with on the stool, feet dangling a bit above the floor, trying not to tap her nails too hard against the countertop and risk damaging the tips.

While Yang was somewhere in the neighborhood of six feet — an inch or two higher, maybe, but Weiss’ stolen glance at her driver’s license once had only yielded a birthday before she had to look away — the blonde may as well have been a giant with the aura of power radiating from her as she broke through the crowd. Watching the match on the screen had given Weiss some distance from the visceral proceedings, but now she had an up-and-close view of taut muscle and sweat-soaked clothes, hair freed from its braid and flowing over broad shoulders like a golden cloud. The blood drying across Yang’s brow and cheek only made the look all the more appealing, for some unknown, utterly frustrating reason.

More than anything in that moment, Weiss wished that she could be thrown over one shoulder and taken to bed, the only problem being that even after three months of dating around her breakneck schedule, they hadn’t slept together yet.

“Some guy in the crowd told me that my seat got taken.” Yang stopped in front of her and smiled, arms crossing over one another. “I should have guessed it was you, babe.”

Confusion reigned for a long moment before Weiss had the wherewithal to ease her hips back on the stool, only to find there was a phrase painted around the edge of the cushion that she paid no mind to before. It was worn down from plenty of use, cracks and flecks all through the white lettering, but to a mostly sober eye, it certainly was labeled  _Champions Only_. That did explain why it had been open when she approached the bar, her eyes flicking towards Pyrrha and catching a very faint, amused smile. The other woman must have known — hell, Velvet  _had_  to have known — but neither of them had done the courtesy of warning her. If nothing else, it was at least a vote of confidence towards Yang’s abilities in the ring, otherwise she would have been displaced by a sweaty stranger nearly three times her size.

“I didn’t mean—”

The apology she was building up to was interrupted by Yang drawing her into a hard kiss. Weiss felt her back press up against the edge of the bar, lips parting under the insistence of the other woman’s tongue. She didn’t really enjoy the taste of blood and dry plastic left over from the guard in Yang’s mouth, but the heat behind the gesture was enough to quiet any immediate objections, especially when calloused hands took hold of her shoulders and gently squeezed. There was enough strength in those arms to knock a man out cold, yet Yang had only ever shown her a light touch. A shame, that, since Weiss was suddenly curious as to what would happen if she didn’t.

“I hate to interrupt your reunion, lovebirds,” Velvet’s voice came from behind, “but what’s your champ’s pitcher going to be, Yang? Want to set it out for you before the second rush.”

Yang pulled away from her with a smile, looking far too sweet for someone who was bloodied and bruised. “Water’s fine, Velvet.”

“Don’t break the bank or nothing, Xiao Long.” Ice rattled around for a moment before a chilled pitcher was set on the counter. “Hell of an end to that fight, though.”

“Thanks.” Grabbing the plastic handle with one hand, Weiss watched in mild awe as Yang drained more than half the water away in a long gulp, taking a quick breath before finishing off the rest.

Like Velvet, she couldn’t help but be surprised at the choice of beverage. “Doesn’t the champion get whatever she likes?”

“I promised you I’d quit drinking the day we met.” Yang’s clean brow arched. “Trying to make a liar out of me?”

“I—” When Weiss made the suggestion, she never imagined it would be taken seriously, much less for as long as they had been together. Now that she thought of it, Yang had kept to water on their dates too, save for gulping down an occasional protein shake in the car. “No. I just didn’t realize.”

“A good habit if you’re going to keep on fighting.” Pyrrha interjected. “Trying to go pro on me?”

Lilac eyes shot wide open as Yang jerked to her right. “Holy shit, Nikos! Have you been here the whole time?”

Before any answer could be given, Yang had pulled the other woman into a full-bodied hug. Weiss considered it a testament to their friendship that Pyrrha didn’t cringe, despite coming into contact with two hundred pounds of sweat-soaked bouncer.

“Damn.” After a fond slap to the shoulder, Yang leaned back, grin as bright as the sun. “Weiss, this is Pyrrha Nikos, my coach.”

“We met.” She frowned, giving the redhead another once over. “Coach? Are you a fighter?”

“Is she?” Yang sounded like Weiss had just asked her if the sky was blue. “This is Pyrrha ‘One Hit’ Nikos. More knockouts than any woman ever on the circuit. Take your jacket off, coach.”

“I’m supposed to be retired now, you know.” Despite the token protest, Pyrrha did as she was asked, easing the leather from her shoulders and setting the jacket down on the counter next to her beer.

“Retired, she says.” Palms facing the floor, Yang flexed, triceps jutting out in a perfect horseshoe shape. When Pyrrha copied the pose, Weiss couldn’t keep herself from staring as muscle rippled up both bronze forearms, shoulders round and solid as stone. “We still got enough of an armory to sink a battleship. What are you doing back in town?”

“I came to see what you were doing with the old Arena now that I’m not around to keep you in line.” Weiss fought the urge to blush when Pyrrha looked her way. “Back before I had a contract, Yang and I sparred here after her shifts. I worked behind the bar like Velvet, but it wasn’t long before we figured out I hit like a hammer with my right.”

“She laid me out on my ass.” Yang chuckled. “I thought I had a concussion.”

That earned a shrug, although amusement tugged at the edge of Pyrrha’s mouth. “I grew up doing martial arts my whole life, but it wasn’t until this place that someone spotted me fighting welterweight. Some drunk executive, but he was the real deal. It jump-started my career.”

“Ozpin’s alright. Kind of weird, but a lot of rich guys are.” A few sharp pops came from Yang’s hands as she cracked her knuckles. “Did you really just come to visit? I know it’s got nostalgia value, but this place is a fucking dive compared to the real octagons.”

“A dive with some residual charm. I wanted to see if you were still fighting.” Rifling through one of the pockets in her jacket, Pyrrha plucked out a white business card and handed it over. “They’re looking for competitors for a women’s heavyweight title. It’s kind of a free-for-all since they want as many fighters as possible. You earn a belt, there could be a lot in it for you.”

“Are you serious?” Yang stared at the card for a long minute before shaking her head. “Do you really think I could get going now? I’m almost thirty, you were twenty-three.”

“And I’m taking a break at thirty-two. You can definitely start at twenty-nine, Yang. Even a couple of years on the circuit opens a lot of doors.” Pyrrha said.

“Thank you. This means a ton.” After a glance down at her shorts, still not quite dry, Yang offered Weiss a slightly embarrassed smile. “Can you hold onto this until I change? It’s going to end up gross if I put it into one of these pockets.”

“Of course.” She was halfway through tucking the card into her wallet when a man in a worn grey hoodie came up to Yang, a phone in his hand. Weiss blinked, recognizing the short, scraggly hair and haphazard slump in his posture. There was no way it could be anyone else, even he was the absolute last person on the planet she ever wanted to see.

“Here’s your cell, Yang.” His voice was the announcer’s voice. Rage boiled up in her blood as she watched him hand over the phone, utterly mystified as to why  _he_  could possibly be  _here_. “Need anything else?”

“You! You—” Weiss sputtered, barely able to speak. “You do not own a baseball team!”

“What?” It took a moment for him to realize who she was, his jaw dropping in abject horror. “Oh, shit.”

“You were the  _worst_  date of my life, Jaune Arc, if that’s even your name.” The urge to grab her martini and throw it at him was growing by the second. “How dare you lie on your profile! That’s fraudulent misrepresentation and I would have dragged you through the coals for it if I didn’t want to block the night out of my memory.”

“Jaune? A dating—” Yang looked back and forth between them for a moment, settling on his terrified face. “Did you go out with my girlfriend, man?”

“Your  _girlfriend_?” Jaune’s adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “This was months ago Yang, like almost a year. I swear I had no idea the two of you were together.”

“Oh. But baseball, Jaune? You don’t even follow sports, I’ve been trying to get you to bet on big games for ages.” Violet eyes flickered back over toward Weiss. “You’re sure you two have the right people? Because he’s been working here for the last five years. He’s just the guy that gets paid to do the stuff no one else wants to.”

“Trust me, I’m sure.” Venom dripped from every word.

“If it makes you feel any better, the job was the only part I lied about.” Jaune nervously ruffled the back of his hair. “I mean, all the compatibility questions and stuff were real. I just didn’t want to put ‘gofer’ under the career section.”

That was the polar opposite of comforting. Their profiles had been alarmingly in sync, which was the only reason that Weiss had been willing to try and date men again, in the hope some switch would flip and maybe, just maybe there was a proper marriage in her future. Instead it was an unmitigated disaster, confirming without a doubt where her preferences lay. She had never been so happy as since she and Yang started going out, despite the unusual circumstances. The dating service had to be a complete farce.

“It was just a bad date, right?” Yang asked. “I mean, nothing weird or worth calling the cops over.”

“He did get fresh with me when we were leaving the restaurant.” Weiss muttered darkly.

Jaune’s jaw dropped. “I tripped when we went through the revolving door!”

“A likely story.” She hissed.

“Alright, alright.” Yang put her hands up, which was a fairly good reminder that she was about the size of both of them mashed together. “Jaune, you should go finish cleaning the mats before the middleweights show and the boss is on your ass. Weiss, you don’t have to worry about any more fake baseball manager profiles because now you’re dating me. We good?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Before Weiss could give a reply, Jaune turned back towards the crowd, nearly stumbling over a loose shoelace and into a table before he was out of sight.

Shrugging off his panicked escape, Yang looked back her way. “I thought you weren’t into guys.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not, despite numerous attempts otherwise. It was a mistake. One I have absolutely no intention of repeating, trust me.”

“You know me, babe, I’m good with all sides of the fence.” A broad hand cupped Weiss’ cheek, pulling her up into another quick kiss. Their fingers met in her lap when Yang’s arm dropped, that implacable smile returning before the blonde looked Pyrrha’s way. “I really want to give that heavyweight thing a go, but I promised Weiss she had me for tonight. Can we talk about it later?”

“I’ll be here for a week.” Donning the leather jacket again, Pyrrha checked to make sure the collar was tucked down. “Send me a text and we’ll go out for lunch or midnight  _dan dan mian_ at Ren’s. Whatever works with your schedule.”

“You can’t just wave the spicy noodles in front of me and think I won’t bite, coach.” The next words out of Yang’s mouth weren’t English or Mandarin, their meaning completely lost on Weiss, along with a quick hand gesture.

“Your accent would make my mother weep.” Pyrrha’s knuckles rapped against Yang’s shoulder as she got up from her seat. “It was nice meeting you, Weiss.”

“You too.” Once Pyrrha was making her way to the front, she looked back at the taller woman with a good deal of confusion. “Was that…Greek? Do you speak Greek?”

“Only enough for me to understand what she’s yelling at me during workouts.” The sudden vibration of the phone in her hand almost made Yang drop it, fingers fumbling to accept the call as the opening notes of Eye of the Tiger built in volume. Weiss let out a frustrated huff; there seemed to be no end of interruptions to them getting out of the bar.

“Hey, Ruby.” Guilt cut right through her irritation at the greeting. Yang’s younger sister had a schedule nearly as bad as her own and from what Weiss had heard, they rarely got to speak to one another. “I was totally going to call when the fight got out. I rocked the house.”

Even with Yang only a foot away, the press of noise from every side made any reply unintelligible. “I’m going to give Weiss the phone while I get some stuff out of the back, okay? I don’t want to hang up on you.”

Her eyes widened, immediately mouthing a protest. Covering up the speaker, Yang’s voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I need to go patch up my face and get the cash from the back. As long as I’m on the line, any calls from her captain go to voicemail. Just talk lawyer-cop stuff or something.”

“I’m not a criminal lawyer.” Weiss held out her hand nonetheless; at least one of them had family worth speaking to. Waving off the smile and thank you from Yang, she cleared her throat and put the phone to her ear. “Detective Rose?”

“Wow, you are formal.” A soft laugh carried over the line. “Ruby’s fine. I only want to hear ‘Detective’ if we end up on opposite sides of a courtroom. Yang didn’t get beat up too badly, did she?”

“She won by a knockout. I’m not sure if the cut to her face is bad enough to scar, honestly.” Weiss had wondered for months how Yang’s knuckles became so rugged; the answer was apparent now. “But she seems happy.”

“She’s been pretty happy with you too, Weiss. I know Yang looks like she can punch through a train, but she’s got a big heart. Be careful with it, yeah?”

Ruby’s tone ended on a light note, but the implication was clear. Between the fact that every officer of the law carried a firearm and Yang being well,  _Yang_ , their father being a mechanic was the only thing keeping their entire family from being deadly. Maybe he was a retired commando and she just hadn’t been informed yet. “I’m doing my best. I won’t pretend I’m perfect.”

“If you thought you were perfect, I’d be worried. Not much room to grow with someone if you think you’re already top of the heap.” There was a beep, followed by the harsh bark of a radio. “I cannot catch a break today. Can you tell Yang I’ll call her in the morning? I’ve been sitting on this guy for a week and he chooses right now to make a run for it.”

“Of course. Stay safe.” She said.

The line went dead — little surprise, as Weiss didn’t know a single cop who had ever mastered the long and storied art of a goodbye — just in time for Yang to reappear. A thick pad of gauze was taped over her brow, cheeks somewhat damp from where the blood had been quickly scrubbed away, although bruises had risen along her jaw and one battered shoulder, swollen and purple. If this was the damage she took and won, Junior was going to look like he had been hit by a car in a matter of hours. Yang’s expression collapsed at the realization that the phone was in her hand and not at her ear, the screen dark.

“Something came up, huh?”

“Apparently a suspect was trying to make a getaway.” Weiss handed the phone back, but her thumb brushed over somewhat reddened knuckles, feeling the old scars. “She said she would call in the morning.”

“Thanks for trying.” Shoving the cell into the pocket of her shorts, Yang managed a weak smile. “You want to go snag some dinner?”

That wasn’t precisely what Weiss had in mind. Upset didn’t sit well on the blonde’s face, but a light tug of the hand she grasped brought them together. The kiss was light at first, mindful of Yang’s sore jaw, although it was only a moment before she had to tilt her head, encouraged by warm fingers sliding up the back of her neck and into short white strands. When that hold tightened, Weiss gasped against Yang’s mouth, a quick breath taken as their lips met again, more of an impact she was forced to yield to than a kiss.

“Sorry.” The fingers in her hair relaxed, lilac eyes half-lidded. “My blood’s still running a little hot from the fight.”

“There’s…nothing to apologize for.” Weiss cleared her throat, hoping the color rising to her face wasn’t too apparent. “What were you in the mood to eat?”

“Ah—” Glancing over one shoulder at the crowd, Yang straightened up. “How about we get out of here and figure it out?”

Better that than waiting for some of Yang’s drunk fans to realize they had been making out right by the bar. Weiss was honestly shocked there wasn’t a rude whistle or shout while they were kissing; it had happened to her more than once in college and that was over holding hands or a peck on the cheek. She was even more grateful for Yang’s broad shoulders cutting a path right to the exit, even if she had to linger a step or so behind to keep from getting crushed on either side. Their fingers laced back together as soon as they were past the door, Sun shouting something after them that was met with a tirade in Mandarin so long Yang was a bit breathless by the time she finished.

Weiss’ brow knit. “What did he say to you?”

“Something that his mother would box his goddamn ears for.” Shaking her head, Yang let out a laugh. “It’s nothing, really.”

She wasn’t inclined to push the issue; whatever was said, the blonde appeared to have torn Sun a new one over it.  “I had to park a few streets away. Even all the metered spaces were taken by the time I got here.”

“I know you haven’t gotten the chance to see my place yet, but it’s actually just two blocks that way.” Yang jabbed her thumb in the opposite direction from the bar. “Maybe I’m reading the wrong signals, but would you want to stay the night and—”

“Yes.” Weiss winced, knowing she had jumped the gun just a second too soon. Without clarifying the answer, chances were she’d make an even bigger fool of herself. “And have sex?”

A second of silence turned into five before Yang blinked. “Uh, yeah. I was trying to be smooth about it.”

“Luckily for you, I have all the verbal grace of a battering ram tonight.” Despite the brief falter, the other woman didn’t pull away when Weiss squeezed her fingers. “Do you want to walk, then?”

“It’s only like three minutes if we cut through the delivery route.” A smile tugged at the corner of Yang’s mouth. “You know, if I thought you’d say yes that easy, I might have tried on the second date.”

“Quiet, you.” Weiss jerked her elbow out, colliding with Yang’s ribs, but she gasped when there was a poorly concealed flinch. “Oh god, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay. Just hit a spot I should have patched up.” The crease of pain between both brows slowly receded. “Junior nailed me with a knee there. I swear grappling with him was like trying to get a grip on a hairy steak.”

Weiss didn’t bother to conceal her disgust. “Reminding me that you were just rolling around in his sweat is a very fast way to end up with a cold bed tonight.”

“I could flex and put it out of your mind.” Yang said.

“What?” She sputtered, trying to decide to what degree she should be offended. “That wouldn’t—”

A measured exhale cut her off as they came to a stop in the middle of the alley, Yang’s arm slowly curling upward. The sharp triangle of her forearm stood out first, the angle directing Weiss’ eye to the bulge of a powerful bicep, going taut and hard the moment tattooed fingers clenched into a tight fist. There was no logical reason for the movement to be so distracting, much less produce the very explicit image of those muscles being put to work, but occasionally making out in a car or her couch and then stopping certainly hadn’t done her libido any favors.

“I know what you like, babe.” Yang let out a laugh as she relaxed. “Saw you looking at me and Pyrrha like prime cuts back in the bar.”

“She—I—she’s—” So much for having command of the English language. “You’re incorrigible.”

“It’s not like I don’t think Pyrrha’s hot too, Weiss. She and I have a coach-student bond I would never break though. Er, sully. That’s the word.”

Blushing or not, she knew  _that_  was a lie. “You’d jump her in a hot second.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Holding up their joined hands, Yang smiled. “But I’m taken and she’s always been busy, so I don’t think it’s meant to be, yeah?”

The path between the buildings was one Weiss would have never taken on her own, considering the only light between washed-out brick walls and cracked asphalt came from a street light at the far end and faint glows through the blinds of occupied apartments. Yang didn’t seem at all concerned, keys jangling in her pocket with every step, the sound somewhat muted by the folded cash beside them. When they stopped in front of a narrow door with a brass handle, a subtle jiggle followed by a hard pull was all it took to open it.

“Is that safe?” Weiss asked, stepping inside when Yang held the door for her.

The question earned a shrug as old hinges creaked shut. “Everyone knows everyone in this neighborhood. Building super’s awake in the morning and Mr. Song stuck a camera outside his door after a couple immigration guys bothered his wife. Gym on the other side means most people think a bunch of roidheads live here anyway.”

Yang dismissed the notion of a working elevator by pointing to a sign that read IN SERVICE; from the looks of the paint peeling around taped edges, it had been up there for some time. Four flights of uneven stars explained a good deal about the blonde’s exceptional calves, although Weiss’ anxiety was building with every step. Successful as her bravado had been, more than a year had passed since anything but her own hand gave her an orgasm, and it had been eight —  _god, almost a decade_  — since she had slept with another woman. Would that she possessed half the confidence Yang exuded about such matters, even if she had once described her orientation to Weiss as “up for grabs”.

Surely she hadn’t forgotten everything, although how much a passionate fling in college prepared her for sleeping with Yang couldn’t be guessed. Before Weiss could consider the pros and cons of technique versus enthusiasm, they had paused in front of another door, this time requiring a key. Heart hammering in her chest, she stepped past the threshold, ready to deliver some sort of compliment about the interior, but there was only a glimpse of battered athletic shoes in a basket before her back met solid wood, the door clicking shut from the impact as Yang’s mouth claimed hers with twice the fervor of the kisses in the bar.

Finally they broke apart, lips were barely an inch from each other’s. “To tell you the truth, Weiss, I kind of wanted to do this from day one.”

“Really?” It was easier to be daring, watching desire light up those lilac eyes. “Maybe you should have.”

“Maybe.” Calloused fingers traced over the sleeves of her blouse down to bare skin, provoking a shiver. “Wouldn’t have been on my A-game with a hangover, though.”

“Then—” Weiss fought past the nervous catch in her throat, “then why don’t you pick up where you left off?”

White teeth flashed in a smile, the only warning before both hands dropped to cup the curve of her ass and lifted up. What was it like to be so strong, Weiss wondered, supported only by those broad palms and the door against her shoulder blades. At least this way neither of them had to tilt their heads to kiss, although she fumbled a little before wrapping her legs around Yang’s hips, heels resting in the small of that solid back. Lips trailed down her jaw, leaving a trail of heat when Yang found the pulse in her throat and sucked at the sensitive skin there. Weiss knew she was at least fifteen years past finding the notion of hickeys attractive, but the biting remark she intended came out as a moan instead.

It  _had_ been a long time.

“You didn’t have these on before.” A firm squeeze through her jeans gave a sudden reminder of where Yang’s fingers were. “Gotta say, you have a nice ass.”

“Thank you.” One redeeming feature after years of dancing, even if it was only maintained by the occasional yoga class these days. “You can take them off.”

“I’m not a total barbarian. I have a bed.” Weiss scrambled to put her arms around Yang’s neck when she took a step back from the door. She trusted in the strength holding her but being this high was still rather new. “Question is, lights on or off?”

That was a terrible question. Stalling with another kiss, Weiss’ teeth found the swell of Yang’s lip and bit down, satisfied by the gasp that followed. “On, I suppose.”

As soon as they were through the doorway, Yang’s elbow hit the switch. From what she could see over the veritable mountain range of the blonde’s shoulders, the floor was wood and well-worn while the rest of the room was fairly bare, save for a birch dresser topped with bottles of pills and powders. Where the bed was became clear when she was unceremoniously dropped onto the mattress, letting out a yelp of surprise as she bounced up an inch before landing sprawled on the sheets. It was a light toss compared to what Yang had to be capable of, and the fall was no more than a foot or so, but when Weiss had imagined being swept off her feet, it never involved someone who could also bench press her over their head.

Distraction gave way to concern when Yang stripped off the tank top, revealing a mess of purple and blue bruises along her ribcage. There were other, smaller abrasions from the mat, tight clusters of red where Junior’s fingers had gripped or struck, but the left side was the worst of it. The tiniest flicker of pain broke through Yang’s expression as she tugged off her sports bra, revealing full, heavy breasts that Weiss had only ever seen in someone else’s photograph, which would have made her mouth go dry if she wasn’t worried about the taller woman’s condition.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Weiss asked, brow knit. “That looks terrible.”

“I’m not letting that  _wang ba dan_ spoil a night with my girlfriend because he didn’t want to behave and tap out.” Violet eyes glanced at her shoes for a second before Yang smiled. “Lose the flats and stay a while, babe.”

She complied, letting them fall off her feet and over the edge of the bed, but Weiss’ fingers hesitated after opening the button of her jeans. “Would you mind…undressing first?”

“Works for me.” Yang dragged her shorts down her hips as if it meant nothing at all, which was impressive, considering what was underneath them.

Weiss wasn’t sure where to look first, although her eyes finally centered on the neon pink thong the other woman was wearing. She hadn’t put a great deal of thought into what sort of underwear Yang preferred — her fantasies usually involved them being gone entirely — but the small bright triangle stood out like a highlighter against the blonde’s skin.  One of the thin strings pulled taut by her hipbone cut through a paw print inked in black; a bear’s, by the short claws etched above, dark triangles that Weiss had sometimes seen when Yang’s waistband got tugged a bit too low, but never enough to make out the entire design. It was dwarfed by the wingless dragon coiled around the opposite thigh, old enough that the colors and individually tattooed scales had started to fade, leaving them looking more bronze than gold over rigid muscle.

“Is—” How to even start, besides keeping her jaw from falling slack. “Is that comfortable to fight in?”

“This?” Yang snapped one side of the thong, lips pursed in amusement. “Yeah, it’s not bad. I used to do some competitive bodybuilding when I was younger and we had to wear stuff like this all the time to show off the goods. Guess I got used to it.”

Any response she might have had was stifled as that last scrap of fabric was removed, clinging to Yang’s calf for a moment before she stepped out of the thong. Perhaps having the other woman strip first had been a mistake, because Weiss couldn’t will her hand to move down to her zipper, not when she was busy staring, taking note of the barely disguised eagerness when a twitch made Yang’s stomach tighten, abs standing out in sharp relief. Previous experience or not, the stunned blank filling her thoughts confirmed that she had no idea what she was doing.

One knee pressed onto the end of the bed, the movement taking away some of the overwhelming presence from Yang’s height. “If you don’t want to, we can wait. Or totally forget about it. I’m not in this to get laid, Weiss.”

“No, I—” The last thing she wanted was for her stumbling to be taken as a lack of consent. “You’re gorgeous and it’s very distracting.”

“Oh?” Yang chuckled, climbing onto the mattress but still giving her a bit of space. “Not gonna refuse a compliment like that. What can I do for you, then?”

“Help me get my jeans off.” Weiss’ fingers went to the hem of her blouse instead, pulling it up as soon as Yang reached for the zipper. Perhaps it was cheating to keep the top trapped over her face until she felt denim catch around her ankles, but it gave the precious seconds needed to compose herself.

Despite a long-standing desire for this exact moment, Weiss hadn’t worn anything particularly special under her clothes tonight; it seemed like setting herself up for disappointment to wear nice lingerie and then have it go unseen. Her underwear was simple and white, the bra made to match, although she was glad to have chosen one without too much padding. There was nothing that could compensate for an absolute dearth of cleavage, but some days it irked her more than others. The self-examination stopped short as she locked eyes with Yang, breath catching at the lust burning in that lilac gaze.

Well, that was an ego boost.

She had just unhooked the back of her bra when a kiss was pressed to the top of one knee, Yang’s mouth as warm as her stare. One roughened palm slid up her thigh, stopping just short of her panties. “Okay if I take these off too?”

Weiss nodded, raising her hips once the bra had been abandoned alongside her blouse. Fingers hooked in the elastic, easing it down inch by inch until a quick tug drew the panties over her ankles and somewhere onto the floor near Yang’s shorts. A moment of quiet appreciation passed before Weiss found herself in another firm kiss, legs instinctively parting to allow for the other woman’s body between them. Having muscle-bound arms settle on either side of her head was a new experience, as was the shadow Yang’s frame cast over her skin, accentuating the difference in their size. A brief flicker of concern that she could end up crushed was far outweighed by the notion of that strength pinning her down or working inside her; perhaps binging on that pay-per-view gladiator show last night had left some impressions.

“How do you want to go about this?” Yang murmured into the curve of her neck. “I’m open, but I’d really like to go down on you.”

This was unreal. Weiss’ hands froze, their path over the wide planes of Yang’s back given pause by that particular suggestion. Most of her fantasies had come in fits and flickers of imagery, not wanting to long for the unattainable. Now it was right here, willing and eager. “God, yes.”

The answer was met with an open-mouthed kiss to her throat and Yang’s knees shifting back a couple of inches. Not content to go right for her target, Weiss squirmed as teeth grazed along each collarbone, a surprised moan escaping when hands cupped her breasts, large enough to encompass them completely and squeeze. Holding onto the fact that this wasn’t a dream was short-circuiting most higher thought processes, but she didn’t want to simply lay back and do nothing, nails scraping over one shoulder before her other hand found purchase in that unruly mass of blonde hair.

“Careful.” Yang licked a warm line down to one nipple, capturing it between her lips and sucking until Weiss whimpered. “Pull too hard and it’s like sticking a quarter in a mechanical bull. I’m not a fan.”

“So I’ve been told,” she replied, breathless as Yang’s mouth continued down over the slight swell of her stomach, “although watching you fight was…exhilarating.”

“I was wondering if you liked it.” Fingers traced the hollows of her hips, making Weiss shiver as they joined together just above pale curls. “Just give me one second.”

She blinked when Yang sat up, hand braced against her as the other arm reached for the bedside table. It didn’t match the dresser in the least, splotches of white paint only halfway covering the gouges in the top, but the drawer was what got yanked open, the sound of plastic and wrappers giving little clue to the contents until Yang tucked a small bottle against her palm and caught a white packet between two fingers. Weiss watched in continuous confusion as the bottle was dropped between her thighs so the blonde could tear off the top corner of the packet with a practiced tug of teeth.

“What are you doing?” She asked, the smell of latex wrinkling her nose.

“Playing it safe.” Crumpling the empty packet into a ball, Yang tossed it to her right, the blind shot somehow making it into a blue wastebasket without touching the rim. “You told me you’d had sex before, yeah?”

“Yes, of course—” Embarrassment and irritation warred for supremacy over Weiss’ face. “Do I look like I have a disease, Yang?”

“No one looks like it unless they’re wearing a sign saying so, babe.” Gesturing with the dental dam towards herself, Yang shrugged. “I’ve been around the block a lot. I get tested every year, but the last thing I’d want to do is wreck your life, okay? We can make a date and go together to confirm we’re in the clear whenever you’ve got a free day.”

That sounded like the worst possible activity to plan a date around that she had ever heard, but the other woman appeared to be entirely sincere. Never mind that beyond a paragraph mumbled by a science teacher a decade and a half ago in sex ed, Weiss didn’t even know what to do with what Yang was holding, which she supposed proved a point in itself. “I’ve…never used one of those.”

“No big deal.” Picking the bottle back up in her other hand, Yang smiled. “Just lay back against the pillows and I’ll take care of you.”

Almost thirty years old and she felt like a virgin again. If there had been the least bit of mockery, Weiss was sure she would have snapped, but the desire in Yang’s eyes hadn’t waned at all. Her thighs tensed at the first few drops of lubricant between her thighs, expecting it to be cold, a blush rushing up to her cheeks when it wasn’t. This was sex, not a medical exam, although if her doctor looked anything like Yang, those would be a good deal more pleasant too.

When the latex was pulled taut against her folds, Weiss let out a whine at the contact. The sensation was certainly different, even more so when one of Yang’s arms lay across the width of her hips and pressed down, as if intending to keep them still. A inhale of anticipation became a choked gasp at the first warm stroke, Yang’s tongue painting a teasing circle around her clit. She needed somewhere to grab, settling for the thin cotton of the comforter rather than risking that a hard tug of blonde hair would make everything come to a screeching halt. Heat spread outward through the barrier as she was eased open by the insistent pressure of Yang’s lips, the next firm lick sending a jolt right up her spine.

“How’s that feel?” The question was a soft huff of breath over her curls.

Of course Yang was the type that liked to talk. Theoretically Weiss wasn’t opposed, but in practice she was never articulate. “If I say w-wonderful, will that keep you from stopping again?”

“Maybe.” A low, pleased chuckle made Weiss bite her lip. “Fingers, yes or no?”

She would have been mortified if this interrogation wasn’t somehow making her even more wet. “Yes. Definitely.”

Yang’s elbow bumped the inside of her thigh, encouraging her legs even farther apart. A pair of fingertips toyed right against Weiss’ entrance as the hot suction of the other woman’s mouth returned to her clit, the first thrust sending the moan torn from her throat up an octave. Usually she had to be worked up to penetration, if there was any interest at all, but the combination of lube and her own arousal allowed Yang to slide right to the knuckle without any resistance. Her whimpers built in volume as a rough rhythm was found between hand and tongue, Yang sucking harder on the withdrawal only to take a breath and thrust both fingers deep again.

The coil of tension low in Weiss’ abdomen grew tighter by the second, no amount of writhing enough to jostle the arm pinning down her hips. She had never been this  _loud_ before, gasps and stuttered cries leaving her mouth unbidden as Yang’s fingers hooked against a particular spot, the hum of curiosity that followed vibrating right against her skin. A third digit joined the first two and Weiss’ back arched, biting down on her own tongue to keep a rather embarrassing squeal from escaping. The sensation was nearly too much — she was used to smaller hands — but the last thing she wanted was for it to stop.

Yang’s name slipped from her lips a second before she came, the breathless syllable drawn out into a moan of sheer relief. Bliss blotted out Weiss’ vision until she remembered to breathe, but the tight aftershocks around the fingers still thrusting inside her kept the pleasure from its usual descent. Her hips bucked forward in surprise as much as a weak protest, expecting oversensitivity to push the sensation over into pain, but softer laps of Yang’s tongue brought her over the edge again. Weiss turned her head against the pillow as her eyes squeezed shut, panting like she had just sprinted a mile. Leave it to Yang to make sex into yet another workout.

“Was that twice?” The sound of the latex being pulled away would have made Weiss blush, if there was any blood left to spare for her face, although it was the slow removal of Yang’s fingers that made her whimper.

“Yes.” She mumbled, eyes slowly opening to take in the other woman’s expression. “Are we keeping score?”

A toothy, satisfied grin lit up Yang’s face. “Nah. Just like to know what gets you going.”

Weiss took a few minutes to recover when Yang stood up and walked around the other side of the bed, a creaky hinge and the sound of running water confirming that the other door went to a bathroom. Warm weight pressed flush against her back a moment later, the hand that relaxed on the outside of one thigh warm from being freshly scrubbed. When she turned for a kiss, a sweet scent on Yang’s lips made her brow knit, although it wasn’t until their mouths met that Weiss could have a guess at what it was.

“Peaches?” She asked.

“Flavored lube and latex is a favor to everyone.” Yang brushed a couple of wayward white hairs from her temple. “I have other kinds if you don’t like it, though.”

That was rather considerate, which was a trait Weiss found applied to the other woman more and more. The ability to be foul-mouthed and crude in at least three different languages never diminished Yang’s kindness, even if the moments she wasn’t sure she deserved it. “Would you mind if I just used my fingers?”

“Hands-on type, huh?” Planting another kiss on Weiss’ brow, Yang rolled onto her back, shoulders wide enough to crush the pillow beneath. “Won’t get any complaints from me.”

Nervousness bubbled up in her chest as she positioned herself between tan thighs, taking a second to examine the dragon wrapped around the right one a little closer, seeing where the scales had warped over time, most likely due to the build and shift of muscle growing under the ink. Weiss drew her fingers up that leg and to the opposite hip, thumb following the oblong shape of the paw print. The first tattoo made sense — Yang had explained the meaning of her name one night when they were texting back and forth — but the latter was a complete mystery.

“What does this mean?” A nail scraped over the top of dark claws.

“It’s…it’s for my dad. He called me Goldilocks growing up because of the hair,” Yang twirled a lock around her finger with a smile, “so since there’s three bears, I got one pawprint since he’s the one that’s just right. It’s dumb, I know.”

Sentimental, perhaps, but Yang’s devotion to family was an aspect that Weiss found endearing; after all, it compensated for something she lacked completely. “No, it’s not.”

“This one’s for my mom.” Pain flickered through the blonde’s expression as she raised her left arm up, gesturing with the right to the bruises under her ribs. On a second glance, Weiss could make out the characters in black concealed by the purple swelling. “It’s just her name. I’ve always wanted to add more to it, but I’ve never figured out what.”

“I always thought a tattoo would hurt too much.” Weiss said, daring to let her fingers slide a few centimeters lower and then lower still. “I cried for an hour after my ears were pierced when I was five. Nothing compared to fracturing an ankle when I was dancing once, but the memory always stuck with me.”

The pad of gauze rose with Yang’s brow. “Ouch. Piercings were never my thing either. Always thought I’d do something to mess ‘em up. Ink’s a lot more low maintenance.”  

Talking did make things easier, strangely enough. Her fingertips were just shy of Yang’s folds now, not needing to make contact to tell how wet the other woman was. With a bit of luck, maybe she wouldn’t screw this up completely. Drawing in a breath, she thrust forward with one finger on the exhale, watching as Yang’s hands tightened into fists near the headboard. The hiss of pleasure when she added a second was even more encouraging, finding a slow but measured pace. Weiss wanted to do more, leaning over to claim a kiss, but the difference in their heights meant that Yang had to meet her for the last inch. It was messy and rough, but she welcomed it.

“What else do you like?” Her thumb found the swell of Yang’s clit, applying a bit of pressure under the slick hood. “Show me.”

She was guided to each breast by a hand on the back of her head, swirling around the nipple with her tongue and sucking before moving over to the other. There was a frustrated grumble when Weiss kissed between them, earning a smark until Yang found a better grip on her short hair and directed her to lavish more attention on the warm, soft skin and hardened peaks. The thought of being led had a source of annoyance in the past, but it was easier to have confidence in the movements when she knew she was doing exactly what the blonde wanted.

“Come on, use your teeth.” The words were as much a request as a demand, strain breaking through Yang’s tone.

“I will if you pull my hair,” Weiss quipped, baring said teeth in a sharp smile, “I’m not going to shatter if you’re rough.”

There was a chastising  _tsk_  in answer before Yang gave the tug she asked for. “Playing with fire.”

“But you like it.”

With that, she lowered her mouth back to Yang’s breasts, the hint of pain from the firm hold on her hair enough of a distraction from the slight twinge in her wrist as the rhythm of her hand picked up. Weiss didn’t mind the slow build towards orgasm, but she also didn’t want to switch hands right before Yang’s release. By the time there were marks raised across the blonde’s chest, both in hard muscle and softer curves, Yang was trembling, and one more harsh imprint of Weiss’ teeth was enough for her to come undone, slick heat dousing the fingers thrust deep inside. Overall, it was much quieter, but powerful enough that Weiss had to hastily wipe her hand against the sheets before moving up for another kiss.

“That felt great.” Heavy arms wrapped her in a full embrace, the bright lust in violet eyes fading to a content glow. “Worth every minute of dancing around the cage.”

“First you endure a hangover for a kiss and then you’re beaten black and blue before sleeping with me.” Weiss gingerly touched where Yang’s brow was taped up. “I’m not sure I deserve that much trouble.”

“Worked out perfect so far, unless you have any _objections_.”

“Was that a lawyer joke?” She asked, withholding a groan.

Yang shrugged, feigning innocence. “The defense rests.”

To think all of this had happened because of Yang accidentally breaking in through her window. One floor up or another apartment over and they might have never met, not with their lives set on paths so far apart. Weiss had always thought that everything from religion to the horoscopes in the Sunday paper were nothing more than wishful thinking, but there might be something in the arrangement between coincidence and circumstance that let them stumble into one another.  _Fate_  seemed like a word meant for fantasies and myth, but whatever the proper term, she was happier than she could ever remember being before.

Callused fingers ruffled fondly through her hair. “You up for a round two?”

“That depends.” Weiss turned her head, pressing a kiss against Yang’s palm. “What else do you have in that drawer?”

The question put a wildfire back into lilac eyes. “Babe, you have  _no_  idea.”


End file.
